Due to a very ambitious canning schedule yesterday, last night at about 8pm I finally got some time for the garden. I went into the front yard and looked for the potato sprouts erupting from the ground in the borrowed (thanks, Debbie) spud grower. There were two gettingbigger sprouts, so I figured it was time to add material. I have compost and pine needles sitting around in the front yard (no, my gardens are not candidates for Sunset magazine right now).
I needed gloves. Gloves were, I knew, on the back porch.
Moving to the back yard, donning gloves, I realized the baby plants back there had not been watered all day (I don't have the system set up yet this year) and it had been about 90 degrees that afternoon, so this called for watering.
The hose has a rupture. It has had a rupture for weeks, and it's getting worse. Back into the house to acquire duct tape and scissors (WHY didn't I buy that guy's hose and reel at the garage sale this morning?), and wrapped a rupture, had #2 son turn water on, tested, found a rag, dried off the hose again, wrapped second rupture, #2 son turned water on again, dried it off again, wrapped it some more. Final water test - now there's only a minor drip - good to go.
Watered all of the baby plants, and side vegetable garden, and big vegetable garden in back. Boys asked to pick favas. I conceded - they're at the end of their cycle and are on my list of Things To Turn Into Compost.
Back to the front yard. Watered all baby plants, noticed tall grass growing in small area next to ceanothus and newly planted eleagnus, decided to weed. Put hose on one fruit tree (I don't have THAT drip system working yet, either). Fetched large basket for weeds from side yard. While I was weeding, Heir Apparent asked if he could boil a couple of favas to see if they're any good. Told him to be careful (I have just taught him how to use the gas range), and please can you move the hose to another fruit tree? Finished pulling the grass (good thing I have my gloves on), put basket on the recycling bin, returned to the hose.
Walked around the yard with the hose, hitting any fruiting or flowering things that might be thirsty by now, and noticed the sprouts in the spud grower. Aha, I thought. This is where I started. Added material, watered them, turned the hose off, kicked off gardening clogs and went inside.
9pm. How time flies when you're in the flow of gardening.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Zen of Ripping
I have been working on a sweater for - um - years. Let's say it's been in WIP for a few years. It's a lovely wool and alpaca blend, and I still think the pattern is very pretty - it's called Northern Lights, and there is a beautiful variegated yarn that is used for contrast to represent the aurora borealis dancing across the chest. I had finished the front and back.
This morning, between 6 and 8am, I ripped it out.
I had planned to finish it. It would have fit. All of my sweaters have relatively thin torsos and especially long (shall we say Simian?) arms, just like moi. That's the beauty of handwork, it can all be customized. It has been on my "must finish it this year" since 2008, and it was next on my list. All I had left to do was sleeves, and then of course the little collar.
The knitting was perfect, or as close to it as I was willing to do. I had experimented with the variegated wool on the front piece, choking it on the wrong side whenever I ran into the heathery green that matched the main body color, but on the back had just let it run its course, and it was fine. The tension was good. Not a single glaring error.
Then I stood up and admitted something to myself last week: despite all it had going for it, I wouldn't have worn it. It was too long for me to wear with skirts, too similar in shape to 367 other sweaters I own, and I simply wouldn't have worn it.
I got to change my mind. I got to say, "I get to do something different. I tried this, I really did, and I did my best, but it's just not the right thing for me, and I don't want to spend any more time on it."
Somehow, I think I am maturing. Maybe it was just a matter of time.
Now I have two beautiful yarns all skeined up and a useful knack for designing new sweaters. I will create something original, something that will be both pretty and worn often. And I won't feel guilty about the Northern Lights sweater any more. It no longer exists. I have moved on.
May you be so empowered in your knitting. (And in your life.)
This morning, between 6 and 8am, I ripped it out.
I had planned to finish it. It would have fit. All of my sweaters have relatively thin torsos and especially long (shall we say Simian?) arms, just like moi. That's the beauty of handwork, it can all be customized. It has been on my "must finish it this year" since 2008, and it was next on my list. All I had left to do was sleeves, and then of course the little collar.
The knitting was perfect, or as close to it as I was willing to do. I had experimented with the variegated wool on the front piece, choking it on the wrong side whenever I ran into the heathery green that matched the main body color, but on the back had just let it run its course, and it was fine. The tension was good. Not a single glaring error.
Then I stood up and admitted something to myself last week: despite all it had going for it, I wouldn't have worn it. It was too long for me to wear with skirts, too similar in shape to 367 other sweaters I own, and I simply wouldn't have worn it.
I got to change my mind. I got to say, "I get to do something different. I tried this, I really did, and I did my best, but it's just not the right thing for me, and I don't want to spend any more time on it."
Somehow, I think I am maturing. Maybe it was just a matter of time.
Now I have two beautiful yarns all skeined up and a useful knack for designing new sweaters. I will create something original, something that will be both pretty and worn often. And I won't feel guilty about the Northern Lights sweater any more. It no longer exists. I have moved on.
May you be so empowered in your knitting. (And in your life.)
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